


Outside Kansas City

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Community: spn_j2_xmas, Dean Hates Witches, Established Relationship, Hex Bags, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Witch Curses, but maybe this isn't so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 13:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: Maybe the witch wanted to delay them. Maybe she thought it would be funny - the thought of two FBI agents climbing each other at the side of this dusty road outside Kansas City.





	Outside Kansas City

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsalmavet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsalmavet/gifts).



> Written for SPN J2 Xmas Exchange for tsalmavet and their prompt: “Usually sex hex stories are first-time stories. I wonder, how would a sex hex affect an established sexual relationship?”
> 
> Thanks to [nigeltde](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nigeltde/pseuds/nigeltde) for all her help!

Dean lay plastered along Sam’s sweaty back, his nose deep in the damp curls at the base of his neck. Normally it would be too hot for them to lay like this but after three hours, they were too exhausted to care.

“I think I’m broken,” Sam mumbled into the comforter.

A fresh red and blue bruise stood out on Sam’s shoulder, the pinpoints of Dean’s incisors written there across the smooth tan skin. Dean ghosted his fingertips over the mark with a frown, wondering at what point that happened.

He tried to push himself up off the bed and his cock, still half hard from the curse, slipped out. Both of them groaned as he stood up on wobbly legs leaving Sam draped over the mattress. 

“Is it over?” Dean said as he looked around the messy room, sweaty hair standing up on one side, trying to remember when they got back to the motel and how long they thought the hex would last. “No, seriously, is it over?”

Dean tried to take a step but stumbled into the corner of the mattress, causing Sam to groan again. He moved his head to the side to speak. “I don’t know.” 

Three hours and five fucks. Dean didn’t know if the time had run out or if five was the magic number for this particular curse, but they made it out the other side in one piece more or less.

After all those spent endorphins, he had trouble remembering the start of it. He and Sam were searching a farm in Olathe for the witch they were hunting - Glory was her name - which made Dean snigger. They left the Impala at the side of the road because the farm’s dirt driveway was full of potholes and there was no way Dean was driving over that. As they walked, Dean came up with nicknames. 

“Morning Glory. Ha, no wait, Glory Hole. Ooh, Glory Pole.”

Sam rolled his eyes beneath his too-long bangs and kept walking. “That last one doesn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t make sense.”

Just another typical day on the job.

An hour later, the sun had gone down. They had explored the farm with its sprawling cluster of old sheds and a horse barn without horses, before finding a hidden root cellar with a dusty altar in place but no sign of Glory. Disappointed and hungry, they destroyed the altar and climbed back into the car, taking off down the two-lane highway. Within three minutes, Dean felt it. 

A rush of heat that started in his stomach and moved through his body to sit in the base of his neck and fill up his balls. A quickening of his breath and pounding of his heart as if he’d just run a sprint. His palms itched and his cock lurched painfully against his zipper.

“Shit. Shit.” 

He swerved off the road onto the gravel shoulder, and that’s when the hex bag rolled out from under the driver’s seat. It was small and black, almost unnoticeable against the car’s floorboards. 

He should have burned the stupid thing right then. Pulled his Zippo lighter out and set it on fire. 

Instead he looked over at Sam. Which was his first mistake.

It was obvious his brother felt the same thing, licking his lips and grasping at the dashboard. Sam’s pupils were huge and dark, and Dean wanted nothing more than to drown in them. The urge to crawl over the seat and kiss those lips was overwhelming, to suck down whatever sounds he could wring out of Sam and press him down into the seat until they were chest to chest.

Maybe the witch wanted to delay them. Maybe she thought it would be funny - the thought of two FBI agents climbing each other at the side of the road.

When Dean reached for Sam, all he got was a handful of suit jacket and the whisper of soft hair through his fingers as his brother jumped out of the car.

“Where the hell you going?” he yelled, jumping out after him, ready to give chase around the car, down the road, across the country, whatever it took to get his hands on Sam.

He didn’t have to go far since his brother was standing by the trunk, yanking dirty jeans and t-shirts out of their duffel bags. The trunk was never tidy, not like Dad liked to keep it, but now it looked like a tornado of flannel hit it. Sam made a little sound of triumph as he pulled a bottle of lube out and shoved it in Dean’s hands.

“Last time this happened, I didn’t sit for a week.” Despite the protest, Sam yanked him forward by the lapel to smash their lips together.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Dean pushed him back against the trunk with a grunt, pressing his nose into Sam’s neck, scenting him like a dog.

“I’m gonna kill that witch,” Sam muttered as he pulled Dean away from his neck to kiss him again. He started to pull off Dean’s tie but grunted in frustration as it knotted up uselessly and left it hanging. Instead, he moved to unzip Dean’s pants, sliding his hand down the front between the wool and the cotton briefs to grasp his balls tight.

“Oh yeah,” Dean groaned back against Sam’s lips, his breath hitching with every move of Sam’s giant hand, the strength of those long fingers making him want to cry out. “I’ll kill her for you, Sammy. Just tell me what you need.”

Sam huffed impatiently. “What I need are your pants off. Now.”

Above them, a harvest moon was hanging low and full in the sky. Anyone driving along Route 169 outside of Kansas City would have seen the two of them at the side of the road. Dressed in their cheap suits, leather dress shoes digging into the dusty gravel, moaning like porn stars on their first audition as Dean pounded Sam over the trunk of the Impala. 

“We. Can't. Stay. Out. Here,” Sam said, palms flat against the car and gritting every word out as Dean thrust into him. “C-c-cops.”

That was the tricky thing. After the shifter thing in St Louis six months ago with Dean’s face plastered all over the TV and Sam slipping out before answering their questions, they wanted to avoid the Missouri State Police at all costs. While the moonlit fields that surrounded them seemed a world away from their current troubles, Kansas City was only four hours away from St Louis.

Any concern about getting caught with their pants around their ankles was wiped from Dean’s thoughts as he felt Sam clench around his cock. Dean didn’t mind it fast and dirty but he liked to make things last, to watch where he moved in and out between their two bodies, taking the time to make Sam squirm and beg underneath him. Control was something Dean prided himself on, but now he was rutting away so hard that Sam’s belt buckle was clanging against the metal bumper. Normally he might protest but right now, all he could think of was getting deeper, going harder, and _breeding_ his brother. 

He could feel the fire inside him race down his spine into his balls and he dug his fingertips hard into Sam’s hips to bring him close again, coming so hard his vision blacked out.

As they lay panting and pressed together in the warm spot they made on the cold metal of the trunk, two headlights came bouncing down the road. A red Jeep slowed down beside them and Dean got a glimpse of a pale face and long blond hair inside - Glory the fucking witch. Bitch couldn’t resist coming back for a look-see. She smirked at the sight of them bent over together but when her eyes met Dean’s and his cold angry stare, they went wide in fear, and she punched the accelerator to take off down the road.

Dean’s mind crystallized in that moment despite what would qualify as a top-ten orgasm - _okay top five, definitely top five_ \- in his life so far. She didn’t know they were hunters, not yet, but she would. They would track her down just as soon as they could pry themselves apart. 

First step was to destroy that damn hex bag in the car. 

“C’mon Sam, we gotta go.”

He swatted Sam on the ass and peeled him off the trunk. Dean pushed him along while Sam pulled Dean along by his jacket sleeve, connected by touch, as they tripped alongside the passenger side of the car. As Dean started to pull up his pants one handed, he felt that rush of warmth again and it moved over his body like a fever. He stumbled and Sam tried to stop him from falling, grabbing Dean around the waist and opening the back door to the car.

“De— Get in here.”

“Sam. No. The front—“ 

He was going to say something smart, something necessary, about getting in the front seat and chasing down that freaking witch. There were things to do but once again his words were gone as his brother tugged him close. Sam’s tongue and lips were warm and urgent, sucking and licking whatever they could find and the taste held a hint of the cinnamon gum that Sam had picked up in the gas station earlier. Dean collapsed against him with a sigh.

In that moment, he couldn’t think of a single reason not to crawl into the back seat of the Impala with Sam. 

The two of them used to do this in high school, sneak out to a back road under the stars where no one knew they were brothers. In the quiet darkness, they would make out in the back seat but that was when Sam was in high school and not as tall or broad as he was now. 

When they pulled apart for air, Dean took Sam’s face between his palms and looked at it in the moonlight. He had kissed that mouth every day for the past six months. Now, Sam’s lips were shiny and full, and even after all this time, they were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

He pulled himself upright and yanked off Sam’s shoes, tossing them over his shoulder and out the car door. Next was Sam’s suit pants. It was like they had personally offended Dean, the way he threw them in the wheel well while Sam groaned out his approval at being free. 

Sam looked up at Dean, sweaty bangs plastered to his forehead while he made room for him in between his legs. His hands were in constant motion - one ran under Dean’s shirt to tweak a nipple while the other trailed across Dean’s cheek to swipe a finger across his bottom lip. “Dying here, Dean. Need you inside me.”

“You’re gonna kill me, little brother.”

Dean pushed Sam’s thighs back, folding him almost in half, looking down at how Sam was still open for him - _so wet and used and all mine_ \- and slid his cock back in without resistance. He braced one knee on the back seat and kept a foot on the floor of the Impala so he could bury himself even deeper inside.

With each thrust, Sam’s head kept banging against the door panel. Hurt little noises came out of him and Dean wasn’t sure if it was the hits to his head or the way he had Sam’s body folded almost in half. Maybe it was just his frustration at the relentlessness of this goddamn curse. 

Dean threw his arms around Sam’s thighs and yanked him further down the leather seat, before sinking back inside again. Sam keened at the change in angle and scrabbled at the back of the slick leather of the Impala’s seats to keep himself in place.

“That feel good, Sam?” Dean panted. “Is this what you want?”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam’s voice was breathy and strangled from being folded up. “Just— just keep doing that thing.”

The back seat was small and the leather sweaty, but Dean was on a mission. He jerked Sam’s legs over his shoulders, filling Sam up, and if the way Sam’s breath kept catching was an indication, he was hitting his prostate every other thrust. 

Sam’s cock bobbed between them, deep red with the tip slick with precome, and Dean couldn’t swallow because he had to make Sam come right then. Dean reached down to take a hold as he usually did but Sam snaked a hand out to stop him.

“Stop. Don’t. Touch. It. Don’t--” Sam let out a guttural moan and his thighs began to tremble where they were thrown over Dean’s shoulders. “Too much. I’m gonna—“

Instinct stilled Dean, not wanting to hurt his brother. “Sam, you okay?”

“Yes. No. Oh god, don’t stop moving.” 

After a few more thrusts, Sam seemed to break apart without a hand on him. Dean loved to watch Sam come on any day but this was something else.

Sam bit his lower lip and his hands, which had been scrabbling against the smooth leather, found a home digging painfully into the meat of Dean’s arms. The muscles in Sam’s abdomen contracted, tight enough that ripples of muscle stood out and Dean wanted to kiss every ridge of tan skin that kept appearing and disappearing.

“Deeeeean—“ Slow waves of pleasure rolled through Sam’s body, and he came the same way - slow and long. Spurts of come covered Sam’s abdomen and hips, small and steady, making it slick and messy between them. Dean wanted to run his fingers through it, feed it back to Sam, but his own orgasm took him by surprise.

Sam’s head fell back against the seat and Dean slumped sideways as a moment of silence hung in the car. 

“That was— intense,” Sam gasped out.

The green cooler sat on the floor beside them and Dean reached inside to grab a water bottle. It was dripping wet from the melting ice when he shoved it in Sam’s hand. “Here. Drink. You need to hydrate.”

Sam’s eyes crinkled up as if Dean was speaking Portuguese and he unfolded his legs carefully to sit up. He took the water bottle, his throat bobbing with every sip. His hazel eyes were still blown black and there was a trail of sweat that ran into the hollow of his neck, and Dean couldn’t look away. It made Sam’s skin glow in the dim light. Dean had seen Sam like this a hundred times before, but right now Sam looked so obedient and fucked out, and Dean wondered what else he could ask in that moment, if his brother would go along with any request.

Dean shook his head. He needed to get out of this car now or they would start all over again.

He tried to leave but Sam reached up and grabbed his jacket again to pull him down. That was the first time Dean noticed that he was still wearing most of his suit while Sam reclined against the leather seat naked. He swallowed hard against the impulse to claim and breed and fuck all over again.

“Put these on,” he said, shoving Sam’s pants back into his hands.

“Don’t think I can move yet.”

“We got to go,” Dean said. “Right now.”

He got out and climbed in the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. He only had a small window of time to figure out what to do next, since the fever stoking up inside of him could only be ignored for so long. There was a motel a few miles back and if they could make it there, they could ride this out in private. Something else niggled at the back of his mind, something important, but then Sam got in on the other side, wrestling his arms back into his white dress shirt. Before he could get distracted again by his brother’s body, Dean started up the Impala and white knuckled the wheel as he spun into a u-turn across the road.

“Just ten minutes, Sam, then we’ll be there,” he kept repeating. He thought his brother might pass out after that last orgasm but Sam’s wandering hands were already at work again under Dean’s dress shirt and undoing the front of his pants. “Ten minutes Sam, can’t you wait ten minutes?”

Sam made a noncommittal grunt as he leaned down to nuzzle at Dean’s thigh through the pant leg. As Sam began to mouth at his cock through the boxers, There wasn’t much room in the front seat but Sam was focused and not coming up for air. Dean groaned and sunk his fingers into Sam’s hair, squirming back against the driver’s seat. “Fuck. Sam. I can’t do this again--“

“Just need you in my mouth.” Sam peeled down the front of Dean’s boxers and pulled him out, suckling softly at the head of his dick. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Turns out Dean could do it again. And again.

Glory should bottle up whatever she put in this curse and sell it because her spellwork was better than Viagra for recovery. 

By the time they pulled into the motel parking lot, Dean was one orgasm away from severe dehydration but it gave him another moment of clarity. It was just enough to jump out and run into the motel office and slap a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. 

The room clerk was two seconds away from calling the cops as he looked out at Sam in the car. “We don’t rent rooms by the hour. You need to go somewhere else for that.”

Dean followed his gaze back to where Sam was slouched against the seat, his dress shirt pulled on but left unbuttoned and lips still puffy and slick from the blow job on the way there. It made him smile seeing how fucked out his brother looked and knowing how appalled Sam would be to be mistaken for some cheap rentboy.

“It’s not like that,” he smirked as the clerk reluctantly took the fifty and placed a key on the counter, his wide eyes lingering on Sam in the car. Despite the token protest this guy would be glad to watch whatever comes next. He was no different than other skeevy motel managers they’d run across in twelve other states. These rundown places saw customers who were at their worst - exhausted travellers nowhere near their destination, people who came to town not because they wanted to but because they had to, and local lovers desperate for a quick out-of-the way bed that was not their home. Sex was probably the only interesting thing that crossed this asshole’s path on any given day.

Dean let out a growl and snatched the key off the counter. As he opened the office door, he soaked in the sight of Sam slumped over in the car. He looked exhausted, and the fluorescent lights in the parking lot didn’t help that, but Sam seemed alert as his bright eyes followed every move Dean made.

They weren’t two steps inside the room before Dean crowded Sam up against the wall, unable to resist slipping his hand inside the open shirt to touch the warm smooth skin underneath. He nuzzled into Sam’s neck, his lips running along the underside of Sam’s jaw, nibbling and biting the soft skin there. Sam bucked up and Dean pressed in hard, holding him down, making sure he couldn’t run away. The need surged hot and spiky through Dean and he yanked the shirt off Sam’s shoulders, glad they were behind closed doors so no one else could see Sam like this, so open and willing, but only for Dean.

The noises Sam made as he sucked a bruise on his neck were small and hurt. It took everything he had to stop but Dean pulled back to look at Sam’s face, brushing his bangs back from where they were hanging damp across his forehead. “You okay?”

Sam leaned down and took Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and then sucked on it before he replied. “‘M fine. Just need you again.”

Dean dropped so quickly that Sam fell forward with a shout and grabbed onto his shoulders. He tugged the pants down over Sam’s ass - _so many clothes in the way_ \- before taking him into his mouth. His eyes watered as Sam hit the back of his throat and pulled back out again. Dean lost his gag reflex years ago but Sam was long. Normally, he was careful not to choke Dean when he blew him, but this curse sent caution out the window and Sam began to fuck into Dean’s mouth while babbling a stream of apologies.

“Oh god, sorry Dean. So sorry. Ahhhh, so good. Use your tongue. Like that. There. Yeah, there. Shit, sorry.”

Dean buried his nose against Sam, taking him as deep as possible, feeling the head slip down his throat, filling him so full that he couldn’t breathe. Sam’s fingers felt so good, running through his hair, giving a yank each time he slid in. Before Sam could pull out again, Dean grabbed a handful of Sam’s ass to hold him in place against the wall as he came down Dean’s throat with a shout.

Sam curled over him, his breaths shallow and loud, and Dean pushed to his feet. He threw Sam over his shoulder and dumped him on the queen-size bed. Now that they didn’t have to worry about getting caught, hidden away from sight in this cheap room, all the stops were pulled. They didn’t bother turning on the lights to see but let the smell and touch of each other guide them. Dean didn’t remember who pulled the sheets off the corner of the bed, or how the pillows ended up on the floor, or when he had bit his brother, and in the end it didn’t matter. It was loud and sloppy but finally it was over.

“We need to shower,” Dean said, running his fingers once more along the bruise on Sam’s shoulder. “And this place is a mess.” He wrinkled up his nose as he looked at the disaster they made of the room.

Sam rolled over with a groan, his arm flapping against the bare mattress. “Better call room service then, cuz I’m not moving.”

Dean was already throwing on his jeans, thinking about what he needed to grab from the car - change of clothes, some water, whisky, Neosporin and a bandage for Sam - when it hit him. The thing that kept slipping his mind all this time.

“Goddamn hex bag.” 

Sam still hadn’t moved as he ran out the door and back to the car. Through the driver’s side window he could see the small felt bag where it had rolled innocently under the brake pedal. None of this would have happened if he’d just burned the damn thing when he first saw it.

He picked it up and turned it over in his fingers, smiling as he thought of Sam inside the room. He flipped his Zippo and ran the flame under the bag. As it lit up, he threw it down on the ground and watched it burn. 

Glory the witch thought she’d stop them, set them back on their heels, and she did for the night. But she made one mistake. Glory thought they were just regular FBI field agents on a case. No clue that the two best hunters in the world were now on her trail and that she’d be going down once they got their hands on her.

Tonight they would sleep, rehydrate, recover, and tomorrow they would hunt.


End file.
